The Long Walk Home

For some reason, the first thing the Small Girl said to me yesterday morning was “Mummy, you’re a genius!” Cheered by this pleasant start to the day, and by the beautiful sunshine outside, I decided it was about time the Small Girl, the Very Small Boy and I had a really productive, positive day.

To begin with, I vowed silently to myself to remain calm and sensible no matter what the day (or the children) threw at me. And then, since it was really about time I did something about getting back in shape after having the Very Small Boy, I thought we might as well tackle that too, with a nice Long Walk to the playground. Finally, there was to be no television whatsoever for the Small Girl; instead we would pursue worthwhile craft projects.

After an extremely sensible lunch, I went to pick up the Small Girl from playschool. With a jubilant cry of "Mummy!” she came dashing towards me across the Toddler Room and flung herself at my legs. I love picking the Small Girl up from playschool; this moment of reunion is so life-affirming that it is worth the hours of tedious harassment it takes for me to get both her and the Very Small Boy up, dressed, fed and into the car each morning by 8.45.

“What did you do at playschool today, Sausage?” I asked her.
“Painting!” She cried gleefully.
“Oh lovely – what did you paint?”
“Myself!” And with that, she undid her cardigan to reveal her pretty pink top, alarmingly smeared with green paint. “It’s magic paint”, she added, and my heart sank (the “magic” appears to be that it is indelible and therefore ruinous to any item of clothing it comes into contact with).

For some time, fearful of getting stranded miles from home with two small children, I have been putting off going for a Long Walk. Yet to be put through its paces, our buggy board (which allows the Small Girl to stand in front of me, holding the buggy handles as I push) is an ingenious and cost-effective (if slightly cumbersome) solution to the problem of getting around with two children.

However, what with stopping to talk to dogs, experimenting with sitting on variously-sized garden walls and examining small but interesting pieces of rubbish, it took us about an hour to make the 15 minute walk to the playground. Immediately upon entering, I began to feel panicky and anxious about the journey back; my state of mind was certainly not helped by the fact that, out of nowhere, an ominous-looking black cloud had appeared on the horizon.

Despite huge efforts of persuasion, the Small Girl simply would not come down from the slide. And of course, the one thing I had forgotten to bring was an enticing thnack. So by the time we actually set off for home, the cloud was upon us and small drops of drizzle had quickly turned to thunderous, driving rain.

I spent the next hour hunched over the buggy board like some ancient old woman, shuffling painstakingly homewards as the wind whipped my hair about my face and the freezing rain soaked through my clothes. The Small Girl kept up an almost continuous whingeing monotone (“I want a thnaaack! I can’t get my fingers in! I want to get off! You carry me!”), in between falling off the buggy board and trying to rummage in my sodden handbag for concealed snacks.

When we finally got home, exhausted and drenched, the Small Girl made wordlessly for the telly, while I helped myself to a large slice of chocolate cake to counteract the stress.